


Nothing but Words

by Wild_Roses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Dark Magic, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Malfoy Manor, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, Teenage Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wild_Roses/pseuds/Wild_Roses
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy is young, newly married and unhappy. Finding the diary of a young man, one Tom Riddle, is an exciting turn of fate.





	1. The Day it Began

The day it all began Narcissa was feeling particularly despondent. It was a beautiful day. The spring sun was just beginning to gain back some strength. Narcissa wandered through the gardens of the Manor, hoping to find signs of flowers emerging from the damp undergrowth. She was no stranger to opulence, but she eagerly awaited the glory she knew the grounds would erupt into by May. The Malfoy gardens had been what had convinced Narcissa to agree to the match.

Of course, she hadn’t despaired the notion of the arranged marriage. A part of her did wish that she could have found the wild passion Bellatrix had with her husband. Another part, secreted away more deeply, wished she could experience a love such as Andromeda had- a love that meant more than norms and traditions. Narcissa had acted as enraged as her mother and sister when Andromeda had eloped. Really, she was hurt. Her sister hadn’t confided in her. Hadn’t said goodbye. 

Lucius was handsome, at least. And rather charismatic. He was not so much older than Narcissa that it made her uncomfortable, but enough so that it made her feel special that he’d chosen _her._ They certainly made a striking pair, the both of them, willowy figures and platinum hair. Enough people had simpered over their beauty that Narcissa had actually begun to bore with it all.

Certainly the wedding had been wonderful. The dress Narcissa had worn was reminiscent of Grace Kelly’s (whom despite her fame in the muggle world was actually a witch). Narcissa had been the very definition of class and grace. And the months before the wedding, with parties to celebrate her youth and position in life, with Lucius striving to charm her… Oh, it had been the most extraordinary time of her life. Their wedding had been deemed the event of the year by both Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet’s society pages. If you weren’t one of the four hundred guests in attendance, you weren’t worth much. 

Now, just over three months into their marriage, disappointment was beginning to set in. Lucius no longer flirted. He spent most of his time in the service of the rising Dark Lord. Lucius promised that he’d have time for her when the Dark Lord succeeded in his aims. That Lucius would be placed high in the New Order of the Wizarding World. It sounded exciting, she supposed.

Narcissa had spent her engagement fantasizing about Lucius’s long, slender fingers and all the wicked things he could do with them. All the things men could do to women that Bellatrix had whispered to her about during summer nights at home, when their age difference was no more than a triviality. Unfortunately, Lucius didn’t seem particularly concerned about such things. They slept together rarely. Each time had been brief and Lucius had left her for the comfort of his personal chambers immediately following. He’d become cold in his interactions with her. She wondered if he had a mistress.

Scoffing, Narcissa snapped a brittle twig off a nearby bush and rushed back up to the manor. The watery sun and skeletons of the garden had not been effective in cheering her. She considered going to the library but dismissed the concept. She’d been disappointed that the vast collection contained nary a work of fiction. It was filled with bone dry texts, many of which contained spells which were dark to a degree Narcissa found distasteful. Perhaps a long bath would do the trick.

It took a long while for Narcissa’s eyes to adjust to the interior of the manor. While the exterior of the stately Malfoy home was a crisp pure white, standing out from the rolling gardens surrounding, the interior had always seemed disappointingly dark to Narcissa. The floors of the entryways and the ballroom were dark granite, the hallways and other rooms ebony hardwood with deep forest green rugs. The walls had matching panelling on the lower halves, and crown moulding lining the junction with the roof. Antique tapestries depicting scenes largely focused on Pureblood values covered much of the Manor’s walls. Narcissa would have preferred an environment a little lighter, airier. Something that felt fresh and full of potential. Ah well, she sighed, at least she was the sole Lady of the Malfoy estates now. She supposed she could slowly begin to refurbish the place. It seemed like something Lucius would likely agree with, as it would keep her busy and out of his way.

As she passed the door to Lucius’s study she paused. He was out again. Narcissa had been explicitly forbidden to enter his study without Lucius being present. The slight shimmer of wards was visible in the thin crack between the wood of the door and its ornate frame. A smirk crept along her face. Lucius might have been charming but he had always had a snide, condescending edge that had irked her. She knew he was certain these wards would keep her out.

Stepping back from the door she withdrew her wand and began to undo the charms. Lucius was undeniably intelligent. But Narcissa was intelligent too. And all too often underestimated, as all wizards (and witches, too) could see was her beauty. It was just moments before she was swinging the door open. The room smelled of Lucius- cologne, fine leather and cigars. Underneath Narcissa could pick up a subtler scent- that of long instilled magic. It was challenging to describe, the way magic after many years could alter the scent of things… a mix of freshness and antiquities. Like frosted leaves scattered in the dirt during the month of October. Or a gentle breeze winding through a library full of centuries old tomes.

Narcissa hadn’t intended to actually do anything in the study, she had just wanted to prove she _could_ enter it. Her eyes were drawn past the large wooden desk and tufted leather chairs, beyond the books on the built in shelves, to a small chest tucked into the back corner of the dimly lit room. 

She padded softly across the room towards it. It was simple. Black with tarnished silver bands. A small lock that worked without a key, but rather, a charm. Lucius had informed her once that the chest was not to be accessed by her at any time. Ignorant git should have realized saying something like that only made a person more inclined to go snooping.

And it was calling to her.

It certainly didn’t feel dangerous. Narcissa had encountered some objects of very dark magic through the years- she was a Black, after all. But this chest, it whispered in a soft, reassuring way. Narcissa ran her hand along its top. It wanted her to open it. It wanted her to sift softly through its contents. To discover what it held inside. To cherish its treasures.

Without thought she began working to open its lock. She didn’t _know_ the spells that were needed to complete the task. Yet, somehow, she knew. It clicked softly open. Distantly, Narcissa understood that she should be surprised that there was only one object in the chest. But she wasn’t. It seemed perfectly natural that the slightly tattered, little book would be so important. She reached down and picked it up, running her thumb reverently along the black leather of its spine.

A date some thirty years prior was stamped on the cover in a deeper black ink. Narcissa opened the cover, noting that the first page, slightly yellowed, had the name _T.M.Riddle_ in neat handwriting. She flipped through it, slowly at first, then with more speed. Nothing else was written in the diary. It was broken into sections by date. A monthly calendar, with weekly sections following, and several blank pages for general note taking. She checked each page carefully one more time and discovered no more revealing aspects. 

Her knees were cramping. She wasn’t certain how long she’d been crouched on the floor of her husband’s study, but she’d best move along. Narcissa set aside the diary in order to close and re-ward the chest. She did the same for the study door behind her and then brought her discovery up to her chambers. Settling the book into the back of her wardrobe, she went back downstairs as she heard Lucius holler from the main entrance.

Narcissa suffered through an prolonged dinner as Lucius waxed on about the position his uncle had secured for him on the Hogwart’s board of governors. As soon as he’d settled into his study with a glass of liquor, she raced back to her room. She quickly set a charm to warn her if Lucius approached.

Not a single spell Narcissa tried revealed anything about the book. She had always had great pride in her skills of identifying magics, yet this book-clearly magical, could not be identified as such. Finally, after staring at it for a long moment as if the book would give in under the pressure of her gaze, Narcissa had an idea. She reached for a quill and bottle of ink, and opening the diary to the first page designated for note taking, she nibbled on her lip trying to decide on a sentence.

She settled for:  _What is so special about this book?_  

Letting out a little gasp, Narcissa watched wide eyed as the ink soaked into the pages and disappeared. After a moment script began to appear along the page where her words had been, as if an invisible hand had slipped in front of her and began to write.

_I should think that depends on who is asking…_

_My name is Narcissa Malfoy,_ she scrawled back immediately after the response began to fade.

_Malfoy? Impressive heritage._

_My maiden name is Black._ She wrote back. _Who are you?_

_I am Tom Riddle. It is a pleasure to meet you Narcissa_.

The name was familiar, she grasped for it in the reaches of her mind. She came up empty. 

_How are you able to write to me?_

_Ah, unfortunately my dear Narcissa, I_ _am not writing to you so much as a shadow, a memory of myself is. This book encapsulates Tom Riddle as he was at the time of writing. An adolescent attending Hogwarts._

_So where are you now?_

_I’m not sure. Perhaps, Narcissa, you could do me a great favour and tell me about your time, the world as it is and I would be able to learn more._

_If it is not too much of a liberty, Narcissa, I wonder…_

The words faded away and were not replaced.

_What?_  Narcissa prompted.

_How old are you, Narcissa?_

If she could see the young man behind the writing, Narcissa imagined he would have been blushing. Something twinged not unpleasantly in her gut. 

_Eighteen._

Tom wrote back instantly, _I wish I could see you. It is so impersonal to communicate in this fashion..._ _Will you help me, Narcissa?_

_Yes._


	2. The Days in the Middle

The nights Lucius spent with the Dark Lord, Narcissa spent with Tom.

Any worry Narcissa carried that Lucius would discover she had taken Tom’s diary quickly faded. Lucius had not appeared to notice anything different about the wards on his office or the chest that rested in its shadows. He was beginning to spend more time than ever away with the Death Eaters. The times he spent with her were focused on his need to produce an heir- if Lucius happened upon his death prior to that event, then the Malfoy line died and its inheritance would be turned over to the Black family. Narcissa found she was beginning to care less about her husband’s apathetic attitude towards her happiness.

Tom asked Narcissa intelligent questions, engaging with her in in-depth conversations of politics and ethics. The sort of discussion Lucius would deem above Narcissa’s head. When they weren’t considering how to combat modern challenges to Pureblood values, Tom asked Narcissa about herself. His questions were often so insightful that Narcissa would simply jot down ellipses while she took a few minutes to think of her answer. It rather added an element of safety being able to take that time to reflect, and Tom never complained.

Narcissa was well aware that it had taken powerful magic for Tom to preserve his memory in such a manner that it was, in itself, sentient. Powerful and likely dark magic. She just could not bring herself to care much. He was refined and witty and she found his personality utterly magnetic. His charm was reminiscent of Lucius’s back when they had been courting. But Tom, Narcissa knew, was far more genuine in his interest of her than Lucius had ever been.

The only time Narcissa had ever felt a little taken aback by Tom was when she had complained about the amount of time her husband spent serving Lord Voldemort. Tom had written back a phrase that made his harsh tone clear. Narcissa should be grateful she had a husband wise enough to support what was clearly the right way of things. She had quickly acknowledged that was the case and that she did not want to discount that. It was just, she shared, that she got a little lonely at times. That was why she was grateful for Tom.

_I’m grateful to have the opportunity to know you, Cissa._

It was the first time he had called her Cissa and she had swooned to a degree that she felt a touch embarrassed by. Her parents and sisters called her Cissy. Lucius typically referred to her in a constant cycle of ridiculous pet names. Being called Cissa made her feel both cherished and distinguished.

 

After a few weeks, Tom invited her to view some of his memories. The rush of excitement she felt had nearly overtaken her as invisible fingers riffled the pages until they settled on the month of June and an image formed in one of the calendar dates. Narcissa bent down, brushing her long hair behind her ear so she could press her eye closer to the image. Suddenly, with a whoosh she was sucked into the book and found herself standing on the front steps of Hogwarts in the brilliant sun.

Next to Narcissa stood a tall boy of perhaps sixteen or seventeen, looking towards the door of the castle. He was well muscled and his posture portrayed an easy confidence. Long lashes left shadows dancing across his ivory cheeks. His eyes were a deep brown and Narcissa wished he would turn them to her.

“Tom?” Narcissa hazarded.

He did not reply. Instead, she turned to follow his gaze as she heard the door open behind her.  A familiar man stepped out of the castle, beaming. It was inarguably Professor Slughorn, albeit a younger version than the one Narcissa had known during her school years.

“Tom M’boy,” he greeted pleasantly.

Narcissa realized that neither figure could see her. She was simply a voyeur in Tom’s memory. Feeling a little silly for not understanding it at first, she turned her attention back to Tom.

He grinned at the professor and shook his hand companionably. Narcissa watched as they made small talk for a period of time. Then Slughorn provided Tom with a letter of recommendation to ‘clear his way’ and a list of people that Tom may want to get in touch with, ‘all important folks in their respective fields’. Tom accepted a hug from the boisterous professor, who clearly felt highly of him.

Narcissa smiled softly at the scene. It was clear that Tom was well liked. She had hoped that Tom would show her something less superficial. But perhaps this was a truly meaningful moment for Tom, she thought. He had told her he was an orphan and she imagined receiving such pride from his head of house would have been meant quite a lot to the young man.

As she found herself pulled back to her own room, her own time, she realized she was grinning like a first year with a crush. Shaking her head, she reached for her quill.

_Thank you for sharing that Tom. Professor Slughorn clearly holds you in high esteem._

_I must admit,_ Tom wrote back, _I have rather a soft spot for the man. He acted in place of a father for me many times over the years._

_It was lovely to be able to see you. You are quite handsome, you know._

_Am I? Far be it for me to refuse a compliment from a woman such as you, Cissa. I’m sure I would trust your judgement in matters far more important than appearances. I wish I could see you Cissa. Maybe you could describe yourself to me? So I can picture you in my mind when you write to me?_

Narcissa hesitated. How ridiculous, she thought, that she would feel shy about this when she had shared some of her most personal thoughts and desires with the man.

_I’m sorry,_ Tom wrote, _I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Never mind, Narcissa. I will have your sweet words and that is all that matters to me, I must confess._

Narcissa, feeling thoroughly reassured, set her quill to the parchment and began to detail her physical qualities.

 

One evening, after Lucius had abruptly entered her rooms, taken her and finished within five minutes, leaving her alone in bed, Narcissa was frustrated to find herself in tears. He had taken the requisite moment to ask for her consent of course, Malfoys _were_ well bred. Lucius, however, couldn’t seem to recognize that her demeanor did not align with her words. She pulled Tom’s diary out from its place in her wardrobe and began to scrawl her emotions down for him to see. She was not embarrassed to share them with Tom. She had never before been on the receiving end of such empathy, such validation, as Tom provided her.

_Narcissa…_ Tom had written in response. _I am so very sorry you are in such a position. You deserve a husband who would cherish you. Who would make you feel as wonderful as the goddess you are._

_Tom, don’t be silly. I am nothing near that._

_Of course you are Cissa. I would make you feel that way, if I were so lucky to have the opportunity. Perhaps…_

_Tom?_ Narcissa wrote, breath catching. She waited, heart tapping an erratic beat on her ribcage as she looked down at the page lit with the sole, flickering candle she had to fight the darkness in her large bedchamber.

_Perhaps I could make you feel that good. In the best way I am able, that is, within the restraints of these pages._

_How?_ A hopeful excitement lit within Narcissa.

_Let me guide you. Let me describe how I would be, if I were with you. And follow my instructions with your own, beautiful hands._

Narcissa felt a rush of heat crash over her. A blush trickled from her face down to her breasts. No, she couldn’t do something like that, could she? It would be too embarrassing. More so, it would be _wrong_. Wouldn’t it?

_Narcissa, don’t you trust me?_

_Of course…_ she had written back.

And so, on Tom’s instructions, she set the diary to hover next to her as she lay back in her bed. Her hands moved down, trembling slightly, on Tom’s instructions.

 

The estate gardens, overflowing with rare flora, went unadmired that summer. Narcissa was far more often to be found closeted in her quarters, drapes partially closed, writing in her diary. If her husband found it strange that after months of expressing her eagerness to work in the gardens Narcissa was rarely seen outdoors, he did not mention it. More likely, he did not notice it to begin with. For her part, Narcissa didn’t spend much time worrying about what Lucius thought.

Narcissa spent hours each day conversing with Tom. She wrote him until she drifted off to sleep each night, and woke each morning wanting to greet him before all else. When she was not actively speaking with Tom, she was reading books he’d recommended. Tom had taught her that the texts in the Malfoy library were not so dreary after all. They provided a wealth of new information that she could share with Tom. He frequently expressed his regret in his limitations, said he never wanted to stop learning despite being restrained to the pages of his diary.

When she had tried to look up information on Tom Riddle’s current whereabouts, Narcissa was not able to find any. She’d been surprised when Tom had told her to stop searching. He’d rather she focus on helping the version of Tom Riddle that she was getting to know, for who knew where the Tom Riddle of the present was, he said. Perhaps he was married. Certainly he wouldn’t know Narcissa as the Tom she wrote with each day knew her.

The idea of a Tom Riddle who wasn’t her friend scared Narcissa.

Her health had not been what it was, a distant aspect of Narcissa recognized. She ought to get a little more sleep. Perhaps a little more sun. One of the bolder of the manor’s house elves once tipped her infuriating little head to the side and said, ‘The Lady needs to eat more’. Narcissa didn’t care.

Waking up in unexpected places and situations, though, became a concern that Narcissa could not deny. Once, she’d found herself in the middle of the large hedge maze that sprawled through the southern most acre of the estate. She’d been sitting on the ground, resting her back against the thick shrubbery, with a dozen garden snakes crawling languidly over her. One had wrapped itself around her neck and rested with its little head nuzzled into her ear. She had blinked and sent most of them along their way. She had taken the one around her neck up to the Manor with her and kept it in her rooms. She’d named her Serena and had given over to her the seat of the southern bay window. At least, Narcissa thought dizzily, she had gotten some sun.

Another time, Narcissa had come to herself in the midst of making a purchase at Borgin and Burke’s. Caractacus Burke had quirked his eyebrow up at her suspiciously as she jumped a little, looking down to see a small glass case holding a shimmering black opal that throbbed with dark magic. She had quickly cleared her throat and made a ridiculously affronted comment about how she’d gotten a shiver from the draftiness of the shop and that Mr. Burke had better take care of that so as to improve his customer service. Burke had remained silent as she counted out the galleons for her purchase, scooped the item into her pocket and swept out of the shop.

Finally, she had written Tom.

_I need your help,_ she had said.

_To help you,_ he said _, I need you to open yourself up to me._

_Ok,_ she replied.


	3. The Day it Ended

For a while, Narcissa did feel better. She felt rejuvenated. Capable of anything. Manic with energy, even. Tom had been helping her so much, Narcissa felt. He had been a good friend. And when she had been unwell, he had taught her how to use occlumency techniques to settle her mind. Had taught her how to leave her stress behind and enter a state of flow with the magical plane of the world.

Narcissa was going to help Tom in return, she decided. She had pieced together some information from readings Tom had suggested to her over the previous months. There was a way to bring Tom a new life. A true life. Outside of the bounds of the diary. Narcissa realized she must have bought the opal with this intention, and had just been so frazzled that day that she couldn’t remember why. 

As summer began to fade, Narcissa spent the hours she wasn’t speaking with Tom working on her new project. She wouldn’t tell Tom about it, she had decided, until she was certain it would work. Buried amongst some of the darker of the estate’s books, day after day Narcissa wove her magic into the opal.

The day it ended, Lucius found his wife collapsed face down on the floor of her lavatory, the air thick with steam. The scent of autumn tinged the air outside, fiery leaves lined the lane before the manor. The drapes in Narcissa’s quarters were drawn tightly closed against the grey day. Narcissa had left the bathtub running, water had overflowed and streamed across the floor collecting in a puddle around her prone body. Her skirts were pushed up above her waistline. Her brilliant hair streamed around her. Lucius dropped to his knees next to her, panic overtaking his sense as he rolled her onto her side.

 

Earlier in the day, Narcissa had opened the diary. Before she’d written anything down, she had taken a moment to inhale its scent. Old magic. Her thumb caressed the cover. She had cherished her time with Tom in this way. Once she went through with it all, it would never quite be the same. Certainly she hoped that it would be better. All the same, she would miss how things had been.

_Tom,_ she wrote, feeling eager now that she’d allowed herself a little nostalgia, _I have an idea_.

_Cissa, my dear, you are full of ideas. You are brilliant._

_Stop flirting, Tom. I know how to free you from these pages. I know how to give you life again._

Several seconds ticked by. Narcissa squirmed a little in her seat on the bed.

_That is not possible._

_Oh, but it is Tom. I will give you some of my life force. Just enough to give you a semi solid form. And then we will activate the charms to connect you to a black opal. My black opal. They channel life and magic from the very earth, you see. You could be born again, in a sense. You would be as you were when you captured your memory in this diary. You would be here. My Tom._

_Narcissa…_ Tom wrote, waiting for her name to fade before continuing. Narcissa’s breath stuck in the back of her throat. _You’ve done it... I love you._

 

As Lucius turned her over, Narcissa’s eyes fluttered open. Her sight took a moment to focus before her eyes flew wide in fear.

“Lucius,” she croaked, staring over his shoulder. 

Lucius turned, wand aloft. A young man, a teenager really, stepped out of the mist occluding Lucius’s vision. His limbs seemed to be diffusing into the steam.

“Hello Lucius, my loyal servant,” the boy drawled.

Lucius jumped to his feet, livid. Who was this intruder to his home? This _child_? How dare he speak so to Lucius Malfoy? How dare he lay a hand on the _wife_ of Lucius Malfoy?

“Don’t recognize me?” The boy asked lightly, appearing not bothered in the slightest by the man’s posturing.

“I don’t care who you are boy, I’m going to kill you regardless,” Lucius growled, stepping forward.

“I’m Tom. Tom Riddle,” the boy replied conversationally as he observed Lucius’s eyes flicker with fear. “Yes. Of course, you know me as Lord Voldemort, I gather. My lovely Narcissa has been so helpful in getting me caught up on the events of the day.”

Lucius’s hand faltered a little, wand lowering for an instant before he straightened his aim once more.

“Narcissa also helped me regain a corporeal form. So that we could be together,” Tom sneered. “I’m certain she will not live much longer. Given that she’s been freely offering me her powers for months now.”

Behind Lucius, Narcissa struggle to sit up, clutching the slippery edge of the bathtub for support. Neither man noticed, focused as they were on one another. Narcissa’s legs trembled and she slipped, falling back to the ground. Her palms slapped down, water splashing up her arms. It was rather hard to breathe with all this steam. Gasping, she pressed down onto the floor with her forearms, hoping to regain a less vulnerable posture. A sharp pain shot up from her right elbow. Grasping, her left hand closed around a smooth, rounded surface. A quick glimpse beneath her armpit revealed the opal. 

“You dare,” Lucius was saying.

“Dare what? _Steal_ away the wife you neglected? It certainly wasn’t a challenge, Malfoy.”

Goading Lucius hadn’t seemed Tom’s style, Narcissa thought. But Tom had been a lie, she realized. Or at least, the Tom she thought she knew. Voldemort. Oh, she had been so _stupid._ If her body weren’t so weakened Narcissa felt certain she would vomit. 

Narcissa took a moment to focus on evening out her breathing. She let her mouth hang open as she worked to draw air deep into her lungs. Her body felt strange. Somewhere between acutely in pain and indistinctly fuzzy, as though she’d taken too much of a dreamless sleep potion. She felt her elbows and knees beginning to swell from where she had hit the floor earlier. Her vagina was sore. Tom had forced himself upon her, she remembered in a sickened rush.

Tom had so finely manipulated her. Narcissa was no longer sure which decisions she’d made in the past months had been her own, rather than Tom’s. He’d helped her when she couldn’t remember where she had been, what she had been doing. Now, Narcissa realized, he had been behind her lost time. She had turned to him for help, and with his guidance, her problems had seemingly resolved. She had wanted to show him her gratitude. Her love. Fury welled up from her toes to her hairs and Narcissa felt her magic crackling at her fingertips. 

It gave her the motivation to finally push herself up. The two men were continuing to posture at one another, exchanging terse words that Narcissa could not recognize over the buzzing that filled her ears. Standing, one hand clinging tightly to the nearest counter, Narcissa raised her foot. Gathering all her will she slammed the piercing heel of her shoe down onto the opal. It gave a resounding crack- the sound expected from a slab of marble being sheared from a mountainside, not the crumbling of a pretty little jewel. A hiss and a blast of wind through the misty air of the room marked the evaporation of Tom Riddle.

Narcissa fainted, head hitting the counter with a thud on the way down.

  

The following few years had been the worst of Narcissa’s life. Lucius became the husband she had dreamt of. He was profusely apologetic that he had put Narcissa in such a situation and was now highly attentive to her needs. He had hired the best medical professionals for his wife throughout her recovery, but whenever possible, took care of her himself. However, Lord Voldemort was still rapidly gaining power and Lucius was too entwined in the movement to safely extricate himself. Somehow, Lord Voldemort was not aware of the brief power his younger self had gained through Lucius’s precocious wife. Narcissa lived each moment in fear.

In her mind, Narcissa always referred to the Dark Lord as Tom. A simple name. A muggle name. 

She and Lucius had quietly rejoiced when Voldemort had disappeared. Though, Narcissa more than most of the wizarding community, held reservations around the belief that he was truly vanquished.

When Voldemort returned, Narcissa and Lucius were prepared. As prepared, Narcissa supposed, as you could be for serving someone as mad as Voldemort. There was no escaping the man, they both knew, and so Lucius returned to his side. Narcissa, however, was no longer naïve. No longer weak.

Narcissa had grown to love her husband. She loved her son with a passion she was certain Tom Riddle would never comprehend. So she acted subservient as the Dark Lord took up residence in their home. As he gave her son an impossible task. As he took her husband’s wand.

All the while she called him Tom and waited for her opportunity to betray him.


End file.
